Twelve Chariots
by Clare
Summary: The tributes at the Seventy-third Hunger Games share their thoughts and feelings while waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Multiple narrators.
1. District 1

**District 1**

_Sapphire Kendrick_

Following my stylist's instructions, I stand proudly in my chariot with my head held high, the better to show off my beauty. Beauty which has been enhanced by my costume. District 1 always has the most spectacular costumes in the tribute parade and the ones my district partner, Lacquer, and I are wearing are no exception. I have little doubt that we are going to wow the Capitol audience when we emerge from the Remake Centre.

I'm wearing a dark blue satin dress with matching high-heeled shoes; the colour reminds me of my name, Sapphire. But the jewels which decorate my dress are diamonds, hundreds of tiny diamonds which catch the light whenever I move. Silver bracelets decorate my wrists and, around my neck, I wear a silver chain; from it hangs a single large diamond. My golden hair, which I normally wear loose, has been pinned up in an elegant style and topped off with a diamond tiara. Diamonds, silver, satin - few who look at me will doubt I come from District 1, the district which produces luxury goods.

But don't underestimate me. Beneath all the jewels, I'm a highly trained Career. I've been preparing for this moment all my life and, when we get to the arena, my fellow tributes will find out that I'm just as capable of killing people as the pair in the chariot directly behind the one carrying Lacquer and myself. They're from District 2, of course, and they're both volunteers; when I saw the recap of their district's reaping, I could tell at a glance that they were the kind of ruthless killers District 2 tends to produce. That will make them useful allies at the start of the Games, but it also means they will be dangerous later on. So, assuming I make it to the latter stages, I plan to try and take both of them out.

Of course, they won't be easy to kill; District 2 tributes rarely are. But I'm trained in the use of a variety of weapons, so I should be able to find a way to finish them off. And, if I can get my hands on a bow and arrows, or a spear, or anything else that will allow me to attack from a distance, so much the better. I may be a Career, but I don't fancy my chances against the District 2 boy (I don't know his name yet) in a sword fight. He must be the strongest tribute in these Games.

But his strength will be useful in the early stages, so Lacquer and I plan to team up with him and his district partner, as well as the pair from District 4. The other tributes don't look worth bothering with; in fact, I've already marked a couple of them as bloodbath fodder. Like that girl from 5 - another twelve-year-old by the look of her. I almost feel sorry for her, but these are the Hunger Games and that means this is no time to be sentimental. Only one of us can survive and I mean to do whatever it takes to make sure it's me.

That's what I promised Festive (my ten-year-old sister) before I left District 1, that I would try to win no matter who I had to kill along the way. She just looked at me enviously, as if she couldn't wait until she was old enough to become a tribute herself. That's how we're brought up in the Career districts; we see being a tribute as a honour, so much so that many of our tributes, especially in District 2, go into the Games as volunteers. That's what I did. The girl whose name was originally drawn looked like a real airhead who didn't know one end of a sword from the other. So, when they asked for volunteers, I stepped forward immediately.

So here I am, a volunteer tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games, about to be paraded through the streets of the Capitol on the back of a chariot. Already I can picture the crowds cheering as I ride past. District 1 always gets the biggest cheer, though that's only to be expected when our stylists produce such spectacular costumes.

The doors to the Remake Centre open slowly and a huge cheer erupts as the chariots start to roll out.

* * *

_Lacquer Marriot_

As I stand next to my district partner, Sapphire, waiting for the parade to begin, I can't help thinking it's a pity we both had to end up in the same Hunger Games. I know her from the training academy we both attend back in District 1 - or rather the one we _used_ to attend. She can handle a variety of weapons, though she seems to favour the bow and arrows. Plus she's not bad looking . . .

But I must forget about that now. We are tributes and that means we can never be anything more than allies; not only that, but we must be prepared for the possibility that one of us might have to kill the other. Of course, the chances of my dying at Sapphire's hands (or vice versa) are currently one in twenty-three, but those odds will shorten the longer we survive in the arena. I'm too young to remember the last time the final two tributes both came from the same district, but it has been known to happen and it could happen again. But I'm getting ahead of myself; the Games haven't even started yet. We've got to go through the training period, the private sessions and the interviews first.

And, before all that, we've got to be paraded through the streets of the Capitol, dressed up to represent our districts' main industries. Since Sapphire and I come from District 1, we represent luxury goods. This year, our stylists have chosen diamonds as their theme; I'm wearing black trousers and a dark blue satin shirt which has been studded with diamonds. Not as many as on Sapphire's dress, but enough to make me sparkle whenever the light catches me. My shoes are black patent leather with silver buckles. I'm also wearing a black cape which is held in place with silver fastenings and there's a circlet of silver around my head. Finally, there's a huge diamond on the belt I'm wearing round my waist.

As I stand here waiting for the parade to begin, I remember the moment I was called to the stage back in District 1. That's right; unlike Sapphire, I didn't volunteer. Even in the Career districts, it's usually the kids who look like they can't handle themselves in a fight who have people volunteering for them. But, because I'm known for my weapons skills at the academy, no-one stepped forward to volunteer for me.

Oh well, if they hadn't called my name, I was going to volunteer anyway. This is the last year I'm eligible for the Games, unless the Quarter Quell that's coming up in two years' time changes the age limit. I decided before I had even reached reaping age that I would volunteer for the Games one day; I tried twice, but was beaten to the stage on both occasions.

Anyway, I was reaped for the Seventy-third Hunger Games and that meant saying goodbye to my friends and family, possibly forever. Even for Career tributes, victory is never guaranteed, but the head start we receive when it comes to training does give us an advantage. I bet most of the other kids here have never even picked up a weapon - that should make them easier to kill. And I'll have three days to watch them and decide who needs to be eliminated first. Should I start by picking off the weaklings or the ones who could be a threat later on?

Having watched the Hunger Games all my life, I'm aware that male tributes from District 1 have a reputation for being "pretty boys". I plan to use that to my advantage; hopefully, it will encourage a few wealthy Capitol women to sponsor me. And, if I win these Games . . . well, who knows? I might even become the next Finnick Odair, that guy from District 4 they're always raving about. In fact, I think I'll start playing that angle right away. The tribute parade is about to begin and it will be the ideal opportunity for me to show off my charm and good looks.

I get ready to wave to the crowds as the doors to the Remake Centre open.


	2. District 2

**District 2**

_Juliana Ingram_

I am here to fight to the death. Not my own death, but the deaths of my fellow tributes. Twenty-three of us will soon be dead and I have no intention of being one of them. As a citizen of District 2, the odds are in my favour; our tributes almost always make it at least as far as the final eight. We're raised with a military mindset; children in all the Career districts begin training for the Games almost as soon as they can walk, but we're especially serious about it in 2. In fact, we've produced most of the toughest tributes who've appeared in the Games over the years.

Officially, District 2 is the home of Panem's stone quarries. Unofficially, we're responsible for maintaining the Capitol's military might, but I can't go into too much detail about that. But it explains why we take the Games so seriously, why so many of our tributes are volunteers, why they almost always make it to the latter stages. And it also explains the costumes my district partner, Orion, and I are wearing.

I'm wearing a long dress made from a material which has been designed to resemble marble, with a cloak made from the same material draped over my shoulders. On my left arm, I'm wearing a round shield which also looks like it's made of marble, as do the breastplate I'm wearing over my dress, the sandals on my feet and the helmet on my head. And my hair is pinned up under a "marble" wig. Finally, all my exposed skin has been painted to look like marble. I am a statue. Or, to be more precise, I am a statue of the goddess Minerva.

We don't have gods and goddesses in Panem, but my stylist explained that Minerva was the goddess of war and wisdom in a place called Ancient Rome. She said it was in a country they used to call Italy in the old days, but she couldn't tell me any more than that. No-one knows what (if anything) is left of the world beyond Panem; for all we know, we're the last people on Earth. But we've no way of finding out for sure.

Anyway, I'm a statue of Minerva and Orion is a statue of Mars, the Roman god of war. Our stylists chose that theme because they felt it reflected both District 2's official status as the masonry district and our unofficial status as a military stronghold. Of course, the other districts aren't supposed to know about the military thing, but I suspect some of them may have worked it out by now, given our tendency to produce tough tributes. Tributes like Orion and myself. We both volunteered for these Games in the hope of joining the list of District 2 victors; our district has won the Hunger Games more times than any of the other eleven.

Of course, only one of us can win. And, like I said before, I mean to make sure it's me. I've known Orion since we were five years old (we're now seventeen) but I must forget all that once we're in the arena. From that point on, he (and the tributes from Districts 1 and 4) will be my allies for as long as it takes to eliminate everyone else. After that, any Career tributes left alive will begin to turn on each other. Put simply, allies will become enemies. And, as a District 2 tribute, I am determined to win even if it means killing a childhood friend.

It may sound hard to believe that anyone could betray twelve years of friendship like that, but that's how we're brought up in 2. We see being a tribute as an honour, being a victor even more so. Our tributes are traditionally prepared to kill whoever needs to be killed in order to win, including their own district partners. So, if it comes down to Orion or me, I won't hesitate to kill him. Unless he kills me first.

The doors to the Remake Centre are opening and the chariots are starting to roll out. I stand up straight and, following my stylist's instructions, adopt a stern expression, the expression of a goddess of war.

* * *

_Orion Knox_

While waiting for the tribute parade to begin, I have plenty of time to come up with a preliminary strategy for the Games. Form an alliance with my district partner, Juliana. Team up with the kids from Districts 1 and 4. Maybe recruit a couple of tributes from the other districts if they have any skills that could be useful. That's the strategy Career tributes traditionally adopt and it's been pretty effective over the years; I've seen many tributes taken down by the entire Career pack. That, plus the fact that we've trained for the Games all our lives, is what gives us such an advantage in the arena.

In the meantime, though, we've got to be paraded through the streets of the Capitol, dressed up to represent our districts' industries. Since Juliana and I are from District 2, we are supposed to represent masonry, our district's official industry. But District 2 is also a military stronghold and both industries are reflected in the costumes we are wearing. My costume consists of a tunic with a breastplate over the top, sandals with straps around my calves, a helmet and a shield, all of which look as though they are made out of marble; any parts of me that aren't covered by my costume have been painted to match. Juliana's costume is similar, only she is wearing a long dress instead of a short tunic. We are statues of Mars and Minerva, the Roman god and goddess of war.

I think back to the reaping yesterday, when I lined up with the other kids in District 2 to await the drawing of the names. Not that it matters whose name is drawn because whoever it is will almost invariably be replaced by a volunteer. This year was no exception. Juliana ran forward to volunteer before the girl whose name was originally drawn had even started to make her way to the stage. The boy I replaced had made it as far as the steps before I stepped in and volunteered as tribute in his place.

In fact, I can't remember a time when District 2 had a tribute who hadn't volunteered. And, short of the next Quarter Quell banning people from volunteering, I can't see that changing any time soon.

This is because of the way we're raised to see being a tribute as an honour. Most of the kids in 2 are eager to take part in the Games, even though we know victory isn't guaranteed for any tribute. Some even make special requests that, should their names be drawn at a reaping, they don't want anyone to volunteer for them. But I've never seen anyone who's made such a request have their name drawn, though my father says it has been known to happen.

Mostly, however, our tributes go into the arena as volunteers and, because they tend to be the best fighters, they almost always make it to the latter stages. The lowest placing for a District 2 tribute is fourteenth, achieved (if that's the right word) by a girl named Tyler who was the victim of a Gamemakers' trap. I remember watching it on TV. Tyler was quite literally alive and well one minute, choking to death from a cloud of poisonous gas the next; the rest of the Career pack managed to get clear, but it took them about three days to recover. And it happened right after the first death recap, very early for a District 2 tribute to get taken out.

But I don't plan to follow in Tyler's footsteps. If I have to die in these Games, I want to die in battle, not because I triggered one of the traps rigged by the Gamemakers. And I know they will rig traps because they always do; it livens up those dull moments when there haven't been any deaths for a while. Not to mention that it also reminds the tributes that only one of them will get out of the arena alive.

Right now, however, the tribute parade is starting. The District 1 chariot has already left and the one bearing Juliana and myself is getting ready to follow.


	3. District 3

**District 3**

_Jodie Yates_

District 3 feels like it's a million miles away as I wait for the tribute parade to begin. Of course, I know it isn't really, but that's how it feels as I stand beside my district partner, Edison. Was it really only yesterday that I heard our district escort (a woman named Gabriella whose hair has been dyed with black-and-white stripes) call my name at the reaping? I remember walking onto the stage and being introduced to the assembled crowd. Then came the moment when Gabriella asked for volunteers, but there were no takers, which isn't unusual outside the Career districts. Even so, when she moved towards the boys' reaping ball, I felt my heart sink. I knew that, from that moment on, I was almost certainly living on borrowed time.

Time, as measured by the clocks which are among the gadgets we make in District 3. And that's the theme our stylists have chosen for our tribute parade costumes. I'm wearing a black bodysuit and matching boots, with a flared skirt over the leggings. Gears made from a metallic fabric have been sewn to my top and around the hem of my skirt to depict the inner workings of a clock. On my head, I wear a headdress consisting of a clock face with the painted-on hands pointing to three o'clock, presumably because I'm from District 3.

District 3, with its factories producing various electronic devices. It is the place where I was born and brought up, the place I may never see again. Like most citizens of 3, I am skilled with technology, but I know next to nothing about physical combat and I'll only have three days to learn how to handle weapons. What chance will I have against the kids from Districts 1, 2 and 4, the ones who've been training for these Games nearly all their lives?

Put simply, not much. Being from District 3, I can see the tributes from all three Career districts from where I'm currently standing. They're all bigger than me and, with the training they've already received, they'll have a huge advantage against me in a fight. My only hope of staying alive for more than a couple of days may be to concentrate on survival skills once I get to the Training Centre, but I know that won't be enough. If I want to get out of the arena alive, I'll eventually have to take on at least one of the Careers.

The Careers, the pets of the Capitol, the tributes who always have a head start on the others. And, from what I can see of the kids who'll make up this year's Career pack, I don't fancy my chances in a fight with any of them. Not in a direct confrontation anyway. If only I could be sure of finding something at the Cornucopia that I could use to set a trap for them . . . Something in the backpacks, maybe. But, even if I could grab a pack and get clear of the Cornucopia, I'd have no way of knowing what that pack contained until I opened it.

I could try lying low and waiting for the rest of the tributes to wipe each other out, but such tactics rarely work. Even if I managed to avoid the others, I'd still be at risk of dying from hunger or thirst. Not to mention that the Gamemakers have a nasty habit of forcing tributes together. I've seen it before. If the tributes are scattered all over the arena and there have been no deaths for a while, they take steps to get them all into the same area. And they almost invariably wait until the latter stages of the Games, when any alliances the surviving tributes may have formed will be starting to break down. If they haven't broken down already . . .

So my best option may be to find a way to make use of my technical skills. But how? Reactivate the mines at the Cornucopia? I've never seen anyone attempt it, but I suppose it must be possible given the right technical know-how. At the very least, I might be able to make use of the mines' component parts. I'm clutching at straws here, but it may be my only chance.

That's what I'm thinking as the District 3 chariot rolls out onto the streets of the Capitol.

* * *

_Edison Bailey_

Ever since my name was called at the reaping, I've been thinking about my brother. He is - was - called Diode and he was a tribute in the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games. He managed to stay alive for nearly a week, but then he had the misfortune to run into the entire Career pack. Outnumbered by six to one, he didn't stand a chance. He was fifteen, the same age I am now. My parents haven't been the same since they watched him die and now they may have to go through the same thing with me.

When they and my younger sister, Copper, came to say goodbye, I promised that I would do my best to win, for Diode's sake. At the very least, I would try to survive longer than he did; he placed eleventh in his Games, dying on the sixth day. Copper was just a toddler then; she's now seven and I hope she'll never have to go into the arena like her brothers. Having to send one child to the Games is hard for any family, but to have to do it three times . . .

Whatever happens, my family will soon see the costumes the District 3 stylists have created for the tribute parade, which is mandatory viewing. My district partner, Jodie, and I are dressed as clocks. My costume consists of a black bodysuit and matching boots, with an open-fronted trench coat (also black) over the top. Pieces of metallic fabric shaped like gears have been stitched to my coat and the whole costume has been topped off with a headdress in the form of a clock face.

What will our friends and family think when they see us in our clock costumes? I can only imagine that some of them may see it as a sick joke on the part of our stylists, a reminder that time is running out for all but one of the tributes. And I know that probably includes me, unless I can find a way to outsmart my opponents; like most District 3 citizens, I'm good at problem solving, but not so good when it comes to physical strength.

I consider trying something with the forcefield around the arena, but immediately dismiss the idea. My father told me about what happened at the second Quarter Quell, how Haymitch Abernathy (the mentor from District 12 who's always drunk) used the forcefield to deflect an axe back at the girl who had thrown it at him, allowing him to claim victory. But the forcefield wasn't meant to be used like that, so the Capitol weren't best pleased at the way Haymitch won. I don't know the full details because those Games have been banned from our screens, but I do know I'm not going to risk trying a similar stunt. The last thing I want is for my family to suffer because of something I did in the arena.

On the other hand, I could try rigging up an electrical trap like the one my mentor, Beetee, used to take out several opponents at once. Assuming I can obtain the necessary equipment at the Cornucopia and you can never be sure what the Gamemakers will include among the supplies. One year, for instance, the only weapons available were spiked maces; there's usually a much wider selection, ranging from knives to crossbows.

But I know from watching previous Hunger Games that District 3 tributes tend to do best if they can make use of their technical skills, provided they can stay alive long enough. So that should probably be my strategy as well, but I can't rely on it completely; I need to learn how to handle weapons. If, during my time at the Training Centre, I can pick up a few skills with a knife or a spear, I'll at least be able to defend myself even without the means to exploit my knowledge of technology. Unless, like Diode, I find myself heavily outnumbered.

Right now, however, the chariots have started to move. Soon, the whole of Panem will see me riding through the streets of the Capitol, dressed as a clock.


	4. District 4

**District 4**

_Linda Scully_

My earliest memory is of being taken for a ride on a fishing boat, but it probably wasn't my first time on the water. I think I was about three or four at the time and most citizens of District 4 learn to sail before they can walk. Not literally, of course, but we are exposed to the sea from an early age. Ours is the fishing district; it is our job to supply fish and other seafood to the Capitol.

We are also one of the three Career districts, the districts where kids grow up training for the Hunger Games, though we don't take it quite as seriously as Districts 1 and 2. Even so, our tributes have done fairly well in the Games over the years, especially in arenas which contain a lot of water. Our most recent victor, Annie Cresta, even won because she was the best swimmer out of the five tributes who were still alive when a Gamemaker-induced earthquake broke a dam and caused a flood. The others - both from District 2, the boy from 5 and the girl from 9 - all drowned, but Annie survived. However, she hasn't been quite the same since she saw her district partner killed in front of her, so she doesn't have to act as a mentor the way most victors do.

I am District 4's girl tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games; my partner is a boy named Harbor. Right now, along with the other tributes, we are waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Being from District 4, we are dressed in sea-themed costumes. I'm wearing an ocean blue crop top and skirt, made from a flowing fabric to imitate the waves of the sea. Both have been decorated with pearls and I'm also wearing a necklace of shells, with matching bracelets on my wrists. I'm barefoot, but the floor of the chariot is smooth, so it doesn't matter. Finally, my headdress consists of a crown of shells, arranged in graduated sizes with the largest in the middle and progressively smaller shells at either end.

I think of my family back in District 4, remembering how proud they were when I stepped forward to volunteer. Well, what else could I do? Our district escort, Cornelius Blaine, originally drew the name of a twelve-year-old who was at her first reaping. It wasn't anyone I know personally, but I knew I couldn't let her end up in the arena so young. So, when Cornelius asked for volunteers, I offered myself immediately.

Saying goodbye to my friends and family was hard. Even though I was raised as a Career tribute, this does not guarantee me victory in the Hunger Games. If I am to come back to District 4 alive, I must fight. I am skilled at catching fish with a spear; when I get to the arena, I must transfer that skill to my opponents. If I think of the other tributes not as human beings but as fish to be caught, it should make it easier for me to kill them. That's how I'm going to approach these Games.

Of course, I'll be part of the Career pack for the first few days, but, if I want to win, I'll have to be prepared to kill my fellow Careers if I have to. Even if it means killing Harbor, though I hope it won't come to that. But these are the Hunger Games and only one of us can survive, so I'll just have to hope someone or something else kills him first.

It's hard to believe I may never see District 4 again, never gaze out over the ocean, something I've loved to do since I was a little girl. Even if the Gamemakers send us to an ocean-based arena, it won't be the same. The whole thing will be artificial for one thing, not to mention that the water would almost certainly contain mutts of some description. And I've seen enough mutt attacks over the years to know they are a possible cause of death among tributes; last year, both tributes from 4 died in this way, bitten by snake mutts whose venom was so potent that it killed its victims instantly.

But, if I'm prepared to fight and kill, there's a chance I may get out of the arena alive, especially since I'm a Career. That's what I tell myself as the chariots start to roll out onto the streets of the Capitol.

* * *

_Harbor Quinn_

As I wait for the tribute parade to begin, I find myself wondering if I will ever see District 4 again. But I quickly remind myself that there's a good chance I will; I'm a Career and they almost always have an advantage over the other tributes. I can handle a variety of weapons, so I should be able to take out most of my opponents easily.

First, though, we have to go through the annual ritual of the tribute parade. And that means being dressed up in costumes and paraded through the streets of the Capitol on chariots. Since my district partner, Linda, and I are from District 4, our costumes are themed around the sea. Linda looks absolutely stunning in her costume and I have to remind myself that we are tributes, that there is no point trying to get to know her better because, in a matter of weeks, at least one of us will be dead. At best, we can be allies, but even that cannot last.

My own costume consists of a pair of ocean blue swimming trunks, a necklace of shells with matching bracelets and a crown, also made out of shells. It doesn't sound very elaborate, especially for a Career tribute, but my stylist said she wanted the audience to see as much of me as possible. Having spent much of my life on fishing boats, I have developed a healthy tan and the training I have received in preparation for these Games has given me the kind of physique people in most of the other districts can only dream of.

But don't let my handsome looks fool you. As I already said, I'm skilled with various weapons and, when I get to the arena, I intend to make full use of those skills. I will not hesitate to do what I have to do in order to win, as I promised my family before I left District 4. If I make it to the final two, I will do my best to kill my opponent (no matter who it is) before they kill me.

And there's a special reason why I have to try and win these Games. At the earliest Hunger Games I remember, the boy tribute from District 4 was my uncle; his name was Bass and he made it as far as the final four before he got caught in a trap laid by the tributes from District 5. They were long dead by then, but, earlier in the Games, they'd stretched razor sharp wire between two trees, setting it at neck height. Bass, trying to escape from Enobaria (the District 2 girl who won those Games) ran right into it and . . . Well, you can probably guess the rest.

I was six years old then and I've dreamed of going into the arena ever since. That's how we're raised in the Career districts, but there was more to it in my case. I was going into the arena and I was going to win for Bass. So, when the chance to volunteer came, I took it, heading towards the stage the moment Cornelius opened his mouth to ask for volunteers to replace the thirteen-year-old boy whose name was originally drawn. He looked like he might have great potential in future, but I didn't think he was quite up to the Games at present. Better he wait a couple of years.

Anyway, I volunteered for these Games, not only for the kid I replaced, but for my uncle. If he'd lived, he'd be in his twenties now and I like to think he'd be cheering me on, willing me to win. And winning is exactly what I plan to do; I have no intention of suffering the same fate as Bass, getting myself killed when there are only a few tributes left. And, if I can keep my wits about me and make use of my skill with weapons, I might have a chance.

The chariots have started to move; I can hear the cheers as the tributes from District 1 emerge from the Remake Centre, followed by the ones from 2 and 3. I stand beside Linda as the District 4 chariot rolls out.


	5. District 5

**District 5**

_Kayla Jefferson_

More than anything in the world, I had been dreading my first reaping. Twelve years of watching the Hunger Games have taught me that the younger tributes almost always get taken out first. My mother tried to reassure me that the odds of my name being drawn were slim since I would only have one entry in my first year. But that one entry was the one drawn by our district escort, no-one volunteered to take my place and here I am.

Right now, I'm standing with my district partner, Silas, waiting for the tribute parade to begin. Since we are from District 5, the district which generates power, we have been dressed up to reflect this. I'm wearing a costume which consists of silvery strips of material sewn to a mesh background to form a sort of flared dress. On my feet, I wear boots in the same silvery colour and my headdress is a helmet with wires emerging from it. There are also wires emerging from my shoulders. I am a pylon.

I look round at the other tributes. I can't see all of them from where I'm standing, but the ones I can see are all bigger than me; I'm 4'9". I know I won't stand a chance if any of them attack me and that's exactly what they'll do. In the Hunger Games, it's kill or be killed and only one of us can survive. And the odds that it will be me are slim, unless I can somehow outlast all the others. But, even if I could avoid my fellow tributes, there are still other things that could kill me.

Starvation, dehydration, Gamemakers' traps, mutts . . . I've seen all these, and more, kill tributes. Mostly, however, the tributes die at each other's hands; it's been three years since the Games were decided by something other than a big battle between the remaining tributes. And, since tributes my age rarely survive long, I know the odds are not in my favour.

Unless I can learn how to survive in the wild. Then I might have a chance of at least avoiding death from starvation or dehydration. But it won't be easy; District 5 is one of the more urban districts and that means our kids are often ill-prepared for the arena. Not all of them, though. There's a red-haired girl I know. She's a couple of years older than me and she's very cunning, so much so that I think she could do well if she ever got picked for the Games. She might even end up winning simply by being smart enough to stay alive longer than the others.

But she's not here, whereas I am. So I will just have to do the best I can, even though that probably won't be enough to keep me alive for long. For one thing, what am I going to do for food? I probably won't be able to obtain much at the Cornucopia; indeed, the Careers will almost certainly claim the bulk of the supplies. I could try stealing from the Careers, but that kind of strategy can be risky. If you get caught, you'll almost certainly end up dead.

Dead. That's what twenty-three of the kids waiting to be paraded through the streets of the Capitol will soon be. Only one of us will ever see their family again and, unless I can somehow manage to outlive all the others, it won't be me. I think of my sister back in District 5; her name's Maeve, she's six years old and she will soon have to face the prospect of watching me die on live TV. I used to comfort her when she got scared by the violence in the Games, but I can't do that any more. So, when she and my parents came to say goodbye, I made her promise to be brave no matter what happened.

I feel tears well up as I recall how Maeve clung to me - she probably wouldn't have let go had our father not pulled her away - but I quickly compose myself. The parade is about to begin and, young as I am, I cannot show weakness in front of the whole nation.

So I try to look brave as the chariots start to roll out onto the streets of the Capitol.

* * *

_Silas Westwood_

As I wait for the tribute parade to begin, I find myself thinking about the reasoning behind the Hunger Games. They say the Games are supposed to be a punishment for the rebellion, but that was seventy-three years ago, when my grandparents were young. None of the kids waiting to be paraded through the streets of the Capitol had anything to do with it. But, because of something which happened before we were even born, twenty-three of us are going to die. I want to shout about how unfair it all is, but I dare not; if I was heard speaking out against the Games, there's no telling what the Capitol would do.

In my case, they'd probably make life difficult for me in the arena - like it isn't going to be difficult anyway. But I'm worried about my family back in District 5. The Capitol have been known to punish whole families if one of them shows any sign of dissent and that's the last thing I want. So I try to find something else to think about, but without success. And the fact that I have a twelve-year-old district partner makes it even worse. I don't know anything about her other than her name, Kayla, but every time I look at her I think about how she's going to die soon. All because of something which happened over seventy years ago.

First, though, we have to face the tribute parade. Kayla and I have been dressed as pylons to represent the power which District 5 generates. I'm wearing a sleeveless top made from a silvery material sewn onto a mesh background, with trousers made from the same material underneath, plus matching boots. There are wires emerging from my shoulders, as well as from the helmet I wear on my head. My stylist told me he'd been wanting to work with metallic fabrics for years, so he asked to be assigned to District 3, only to be told they didn't need any more stylists at present. Luckily, a vacancy had opened up on the team responsible for District 5, which has a similar industry.

I don't much care for the whims of Capitol residents. All I know is that, not content with sending kids off to die every year, they have to make the same kids into a public spectacle via the tribute parade. Still, it could be worse. I could have ended up with one of those stylists who dress their tributes in as little as possible; a few years back, the kids from District 12 emerged wearing nothing but black dust. At least I'm able to maintain a little dignity.

I turn my attention to deciding how I should approach the Games. I know I should work on my survival skills, since tributes from the more urban districts are at a disadvantage in that area. And it would also help if I could learn how to handle weapons. Not that I expect to become as competent as the Careers, but just being able to throw a spear or wield a bladed weapon will at least enable me to fight back if I'm attacked.

But will I really be able to kill my fellow tributes? If I want to survive, that's what I'll have to be prepared to do. Could I kill Kayla? Given how little chance very young tributes like her stand in the Games, it might be kinder if I were to take her out myself, rather than let the Careers catch her. I've seen Career packs in action before, so I know they often like to toy with their victims before killing them. In the meantime, I'll have as little as possible to do with her.

As for the rest of my fellow tributes, I think I could probably take most of them on easily. The Careers, however, are another matter; they've been training for these Games all their lives. And, if I'm to win, I'll have to take them on sooner or later. I know how ruthless Careers can be and at least half of them make it to the latter stages every year.

Right now, however, the tribute parade is about to start. Standing beside Kayla, I watch as the chariots begin to roll out.


	6. District 6

**District 6**

_Mercedes Brown_

District 6 is the district which keeps Panem moving. Our main industry is transport; from an early age, our children are prepared for a lifetime as assembly plant workers, mechanics . . . and so on. Unless, of course, they end up as tributes in the Hunger Games, which is what has happened to me. In my seventh year of eligibility, when I was one year away from being out of the reaping for good (barring any Quarter Quells which might change the age limit) my name was drawn from the girls' reaping ball.

To be fair, I knew the odds weren't in my favour. After all, I had been claiming tesserae since I was twelve for myself, my parents and four younger siblings. And that meant my name was in the reaping fifty-six times. Seven because that's the minimum number of entries for eighteen-year-olds, plus forty-nine for all the tesserae I'd claimed over the years. All the same, I hoped that my luck would hold for just one more year. But it didn't; one of my entries was drawn and I had to make my way to the stage. As usual, our district escort asked for volunteers and, as usual, there were no takers. In fact, District 6 hasn't had a volunteer in over thirty years.

Anyway, I'm District 6's female tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games. Right now, I'm waiting with my district partner, Philip, and the other tributes for the start of the tribute parade. My costume is, to say the least, strange. My stylist came up with an ensemble consisting of a corset top, leggings and boots, all of which look - and smell - like they're made from vulcanized rubber. Vulcanized rubber, the stuff we use to make tyres. I'm also wearing a necklace and matching bracelets which look like they've been made out of wheel nuts. And the whole thing is topped off with a headdress which has clearly been modelled on a hubcap. In short, this year's District 6 costumes are based on car wheels.

When my stylist first mentioned the wheels theme, I imagined myself being paraded through the streets of the Capitol wearing nothing but a tyre around my waist. The costume I ended up with is at least an improvement on that - even if it is damn uncomfortable to wear. Still, at least I'll only have to be in it for a few hours.

I think of my family back in District 6. My two oldest siblings, Pilot and Jessica, are also of reaping age, at fifteen and thirteen years old respectively. Since I would have been too old for the reaping next year, even if my name hadn't been drawn, Pilot signed up for tesserae for the first time this year; he said he had to, being the eldest after me. But I hope Jessica and our ten-year-old twin brothers, Leo and Aldrin, will never have to take the same risk. And signing up for tesserae is a risk; it allows you to claim a year's supply of grain and oil for each person in your family, but it also means your name has more chances of being drawn.

But, if I can win these Games, I'll receive a guaranteed income for life. That means Pilot won't have to claim any more tesserae and Jessica, Leo and Aldrin will never even have to sign up. They'll still have to face the reaping like all the other kids in District 6, but they won't have the added risk of having extra entries. Though, of course, the tesserae Pilot claimed this year will still count towards his total number of entries in future reapings, even if I do win these Games. But at least the chances of his name being drawn will only increase slightly. First, though, I've got to win these Games.

Over the next three days, I plan to work on my weapons and survival skills, so that I'll at least have a chance. And the training period will give me time to observe my fellow tributes, see if any of them might be worth teaming up with. Allies can be useful in the Games, but you must be prepared for the possibility that you might have to kill your own allies, or vice versa.

But any decisions about allies will have to wait. Right now, the tribute parade is about to begin.

* * *

_Philip Ashton_

As I wait for the tribute parade to begin, my mind runs through all the recent District 6 tributes. In the past five years, we've lost seven tributes in the bloodbath and the remaining three have all made the final eight. Among the latter was Titus, the tribute who went mad and tried to eat his opponents, though we don't talk about that - for obvious reasons. But I knew Titus before he went into the arena - he was a friend of my older brother, Myles - so I know he wasn't always a nutjob. It was the stress of the situation he found himself in that made him snap. But I hope I won't go mad as well; I would hate to be remembered for anything even remotely similar to what Titus did.

Right now, I'm standing beside my district partner, Mercedes, both of us dressed up to represent District 6's main industry, transport. We are supposed to represent car wheels - or so our stylists say. I'm wearing a suit of armour that looks as though it's been made out of tyres, with a chain of wheel nuts round my neck and a hubcap for a headdress. This is what the whole of Panem will soon see me wearing.

I think back to the reaping, remembering when I was called to the stage, hoping against hope that I might get lucky and have someone volunteer for me. No chance of that; the only districts where volunteers are the rule rather than the exception are Districts 1, 2 and 4, the Career districts. So I had to leave District 6, my home for the past fifteen years, not knowing if I would ever see my friends and family again. I know I will return one day, but will I return as a victor or as a corpse?

Naturally, I have a definite preference for the former. So I must find a way to win these Games. I don't know how I'm going to do it yet, but I'm going to give it my best shot. At the very least, I want to make sure I don't get knocked out in the early stages. Luckily, I'm fairly strong and that should give me a slight edge, hopefully enough to allow me to take out some of my opponents. But, if I'm to win, I'm going to have to take on at least one of the Careers and they're going to be harder to kill.

Whatever happens, I must never lose sight of the fact that my opponents are human beings. That's what happened to Titus and it's why most people think the avalanche which killed him was no accident. He'd made it as far as the final four and there was a very real chance that he might end up winning. So, to make sure they wouldn't have to give the crown to a mad boy who had tried to eat his fellow tributes, the Gamemakers set off an avalanche in order to eliminate him from the Games.

I don't know how much truth there is in that theory, but the Gamemakers have killed tributes in the past, though they don't do it often. They mostly force the tributes together, then leave them to fight it out. Even so, I don't want to give the Gamemakers an excuse to take me out; if I have to die in these Games, I want to die for a better reason than the fact that I went nuts and literally tried to make a meal of my opponents.

Luckily, cases like Titus's are rare, but they do happen. And the fact that it happened to someone from my own district makes me wonder if, no matter how hard I try to avoid going down the same path, I might end up suffering a similar fate. But I remind myself that it's unlikely, that most tributes do not try to eat each other. The trouble is, you can never tell how someone's going to react to being in the arena until the Game begin. So I must work on my fighting skills while I'm at the Training Centre. And, when I get to the arena, I must hope I manage to retain at least a shred of sanity.

That's what I'm thinking as the District 6 chariot rolls out.


	7. District 7

**District 7**

_Sorrel Newman_

It's said there are more trees than people in District 7. Not that I've ever bothered to count, but the district is pretty much one big forest, so there may be some truth to that claim. But it certainly is true that our children start learning about trees and tree husbandry from an early age in preparation for a lifetime working in the lumber industry. Assuming, of course, they don't get reaped - and getting reaped is precisely what has happened to me.

Right now, my district partner, Timothy, and I are waiting for the start of the tribute parade; we are standing in our chariot, dressed in the costumes our stylists designed for us. I'm wearing an ankle-length dress and matching slippers, both of which look as though they have been made out of bark. Ivy leaves made from green silk have been sewn to my dress, trailing up the skirt and onto the bodice. On my head, I wear a large wreath of leaves and there are more leaves around my wrists. Like nearly every District 7 tribute since our current stylists took over somewhere around the Thirty-fifth Games, I'm dressed as a tree.

Still, it isn't bad as tribute costumes go. Though I doubt my mentor would say the same; she says the tree theme is getting rather stale, though she didn't phrase it quite so politely. My mentor is Johanna Mason, the girl who won a couple of years back by pretending she was a weakling, then, when there were only a few tributes left, revealing herself to be a vicious killer. Many of us in District 7 knew how tough she was in reality - still is, of course - but it must have come as a shock to the other districts when she finally revealed her true colours.

My strategy for the Games is not going to be quite so devious. Equip myself with weapons and supplies at the Cornucopia, then, assuming I manage to get clear, find some trees to use as my base camp. I'll kill anyone who threatens my life, but I won't initiate attacks on anyone. That's what Career tributes do and, while I'll have no choice but to kill if I'm going to win these Games, I have no wish to kill wantonly the way many Careers do. Of course, there's no telling what will happen once I'm in the arena. I could easily end up panicking and killing someone without meaning to, which has happened in the Games before.

But I dismiss even the thought of it and turn my attention to deciding what type of weapon I should use. Like most District 7 citizens, I'm skilled with axes, so I should probably focus on learning to use other weapons while I'm at the Training Centre. Swords, maces, spears . . . and many other weapons have featured in the Games over the years and it's useful to know how to use them. I won't have time to get as proficient as the Careers, but I should at least learn enough to enable me to defend myself. An axe would be my preferred weapon of choice, but, just in case there aren't any in the Cornucopia, I'll spend some time working with other weapons as well.

And then there's the question of allies. Should I team up with any of my fellow tributes? If so, who? Alliances can be useful in the early stages of the Games, but the benefits need to be weighed against the possibility that you and your allies may end up having to kill each other. I decide to leave the decision until after I've had time to observe the other tributes and see if they have any useful skills.

I think of my family in District 7, my parents and two brothers. Thorn is one year away from his first reaping, but Douglas is only three years old. This is the first year he's really been aware of the Hunger Games and he knew that was why I was going away, but he's too young to grasp exactly what that means. When my parents brought him and Thorn to say goodbye, he actually asked me if he could "play too". I just told him he'd have to wait until he was older.

As the chariots start to roll out of the Remake Centre, I get ready to wave to the crowds.

* * *

_Timothy Banks_

I am the youngest tribute in this year's Games; I turned twelve just two days before the reaping. Not many babies are born in the districts at this time of year because the parents don't want to risk having their child's birthday fall on reaping day. But I was one of the exceptions. I'm not the smallest tribute here, though; the girl from District 5 (I don't know her name) is a little smaller than me. But, at 4'11", I am the smallest male tribute.

My district partner is a girl named Sorrel. Our fathers both work at the same sawmill, but we aren't friends. Which is just as well because one or both of us will soon be dead. And the chances are that I will be killed first; most very young tributes get knocked out early. But I'm not going down without a fight, even if the odds are against me. That's what I promised Rebecca (my ten-year-old sister) when she and our parents came to say goodbye.

I'll almost certainly never see them again. But they will soon see me when the tributes are paraded through the streets of the Capitol; everyone has to watch the tribute parade on television. Being from District 7, Sorrel and I are dressed as trees. My costume consists of a shirt and trousers, with slippers on my feet, all of which look like bark. Like Sorrel's, my costume is decorated with silk ivy leaves which have been sewn to my shirt and trousers. Finally, my head is wreathed with leaves.

I think back to the reaping. I hoped I would be safe in my first year; even though I'd signed up for tesserae on my birthday two days earlier, this only gave me five entries. One because it was my first year, plus another four because of the tesserae I'd claimed for my parents, Rebecca and myself. But one of those five entries was drawn from the boys' reaping ball and I had to come to the stage. Our district escort (a purple-haired woman named Virginia) asked for volunteers, but no-one responded. Which wasn't unusual since District 7 is not a Career district and it's usually the Career districts that have kids coming forward to volunteer.

When I was younger (about six or seven) I asked my father why the kids in Districts 1, 2 and 4 were so keen to volunteer. Even that young, I knew they must be aware of what they were letting themselves in for, that they must know they couldn't be sure they would win. He just told me about how they view the Hunger Games differently in the Career districts, about how they see being a tribute as an honour. Then, doubtless fearing I would start asking awkward questions, he sent me outside to play.

Anyway, no-one volunteered for me, so I became District 7's boy tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games. As I said before, I know the odds are against me, but I'm not just going to let myself get killed. I'm going to at least try to fight back. And my best hope is probably to focus on projectile weapons, which will allow me to take out my opponents from a distance. I'm already pretty good with a throwing axe.

At school, we have axe-throwing competitions. It's good practice for the Games in case we ever get reaped, but we don't talk about that. Last year, I came second in the boys' competition and I hope I will be able to make use of the hours I spent practising once I get to the arena. I don't let myself think about the fact that there's a difference between throwing an axe at a wooden target and throwing an axe at a human being.

Of course, this strategy could backfire. There might be no axes in the Cornucopia, or I might get jumped by one of the other tributes - and I wouldn't stand a chance against most of them. But I figure it's about the best chance I've got of winning the Games.

While I'm thinking about my chances in the Games, the chariots start to roll out.


	8. District 8

**District 8**

_Patricia White_

When I left District 8 to go to the Capitol, I tried to record as much of my home as I could in my memory. The textile factories, the warehouses, the rundown tenements . . . I had to remember it because I knew I would almost certainly never see it again. District 8 is one of those districts which tend to fare poorly in the Hunger Games; only a handful of our tributes make it past the first week. Coming from one of the most urban districts in Panem, they have almost no chance to learn about nature and this leaves them ill-equiped to survive in the arena. Last year, both our tributes were dead within three days; the girl died in the bloodbath and the boy ate poisonous mushrooms.

So I will have to pay attention during training, particularly when it comes to survival techniques; it's the only way I'll have even a slim chance of staying alive. And I probably won't be able to do that for long, especially if the Careers catch me. They've been training for these Games all their lives, whereas I've never even picked up a weapon. And, if they're anything like the Careers I've seen in previous Games, they'll all be much stronger than I am.

First though, we have to go through the annual ritual that is the tribute parade. Dressed up to represent our district industries, we will be paraded through the streets of the Capitol in chariots. I'm wearing a red gingham dress which is covered in frills and flounces; there are ruffles at the neck and the skirt is trimmed with lace, as are the puffed sleeves. A red satin sash has been tied around my waist and my footwear consists of white knee-length socks and red shoes with buckle fastenings. My stylist said they were called "Mary Janes", not that I care. Finally, I'm wearing a huge bow in my hair, red gingham to match my dress.

No doubt this is meant to represent the textile industry, gingham being one of the many fabrics we make in District 8. Which would explain all the lace and ruffles, though this does make my costume look rather like something a little girl might wear - if her parents could afford it which not many parents in the districts could. It seems to have escaped my stylist's notice that I'm sixteen, not six. Then again, she is pretty clueless like most Capitol citizens. I just hope my dress for the interviews the night before the Games is a little more grown up.

Technically, my district partner, Nap, and I could have been put on our chariot in our everyday clothes. After all, clothes are the end product of the textile industry and textiles are what District 8 produces. But, doubtless in an effort to make our tributes more noticeable, the District 8 stylists have a habit of producing the most garish costumes in the parade. It certainly makes our tributes stand out, but it also makes them look ridiculous.

And my costume is no exception; it's far too childish for my taste. But there's not a lot I can do about it, so I'll just have to smile and try to look as though I'm having fun. Which I'm not, of course - I'm only too aware of why I'm here and of what's likely to happen to me in the next few days. I am facing almost certain death in the arena, unless I can somehow find a way of outlasting all my fellow tributes. And, given District 8's record, I don't fancy my chances.

I visualise the faces of my parents and my siblings; I have a brother named Matthew who's thirteen and a sister named Cassandra who's eleven. The last time I saw them was when they came to the Justice Building after the reaping to say goodbye. I tried to be brave in front of them, but it wasn't easy; we all knew it was likely to be goodbye forever. None of us had any illusions about my chances. I just had time to give Cassandra one last sisterly hug before a Peacekeeper came to tell my family their time was up.

I hold the memory of that hug in my mind as the chariots begin to roll out.

* * *

_Nap Ellis_

When I signed up for tesserae, I knew I was increasing my chances of ending up in the arena. But I had to do it; even with both of them working full-time in a textile factory, my parents barely earn enough to feed our family. We needed the extra rations of grain and oil. Even so, I hoped I would be safe for a few years. Instead, my name was drawn at my second reaping; at the age of thirteen, I am District 8's male tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games.

That's why I'm currently in the Remake Centre, waiting for the start of the tribute parade; my district partner, Patricia, is beside me. Being from District 8, our costumes are supposed to reflect the textile industry. Mine consists of a red gingham shirt (Gingham is also the name of my ten-year-old sister) and corduroy trousers which are also red and have patches of gingham sewn onto the knees. My shoes are white and there's a large red bowtie around my neck. Finally, I'm wearing a cap made from alternating pieces of corduroy and gingham.

This is what the whole of Panem will soon see me wearing. I imagine my family watching on the television in our cramped apartment. My parents, Gingham and my two brothers, eight-year-old Tweed and five-year-old Cotton. How will they cope without me? I know only too well what the chances of a District 8 tribute getting out of the arena alive are. And the fact that I'm only thirteen increases the likelihood that I'll get knocked out early.

May the odds be ever in your favour? They're certainly not in mine. I'm one of the youngest tributes in this year's Games and I come from a district which rarely has a tribute in the final eight, the point in the Games where they interview the friends and families of every tribute who is still alive. The last District 8 tribute to get that far was Patricia's mentor, Cecelia; since then, the best any of our tributes have managed is tenth place.

All I can do is try not to get myself eliminated in the bloodbath, even though that means I may have to forego the chance of getting hold of any decent supplies. Having watched the Games all my life, I know the Careers tend to claim most of the stuff in the Cornucopia, which means they rarely have to worry about fending for themselves. Some of the tributes from the other nine districts manage to obtain a weapon and/or a backpack, but many are lucky if they get away with any supplies at all.

My only chance may be to try and remember any survival skills I've seen tributes use in previous Games, not to mention spending time at the relevant stations during the three-day training period. Even then, I'll still be vulnerable to both my fellow tributes and any mutts the Gamemakers may decide to use against us. If you really want to stand a chance in the Hunger Games, you need to be able to handle weapons. And I know my chances of getting hold of a weapon, much less using it to take out one of my opponents, are slim.

My thoughts turn back to my family. If I die - and I probably will - it will be two years before Gingham is old enough to claim tesserae. She might not want to, but, like many kids in the poorer districts, she won't have much choice. In District 8, you can get a part-time job in a textile factory from the age of twelve, but the pay is poor, so many kids still have to sign up for tesserae; that's what happened in my case. But my siblings are too young to do either of these things, so my family will struggle for a couple of years. Unless I can win the Games, which would mean Gingham, Tweed and Cotton never have to sign up for tesserae the way I did. But I know that's not likely to happen.

A loud cheer erupts as the chariots start to leave the Remake Centre, emerging onto the streets of the Capitol.


	9. District 9

**District 9**

_Hermia Sanders_

As I wait for the start of the tribute parade, I visualise the vast fields of wheat and other cereal crops which grow in District 9. Our entire district is dedicated to growing, harvesting and processing grain; in late summer, everything is golden as far as the eye can see. But, for many citizens of 9, life is far from golden. Ours is one of the poorer districts, which means people have to work long hours in the fields and in the grain processing plants just to make ends meet. And the grain we grow is not for our own benefit, but for the Capitol's, so many kids still have to claim tesserae.

That's what I did when I turned twelve. I had no choice; my parents were struggling to feed five children. My oldest brother, Tomas, had been claiming tesserae, but he had died in the Games the previous year. And, of my parents' surviving children, I was the only one old enough to take over from him. So, knowing it would increase my chances of having my name drawn, I went to the Justice Building to sign up - and I've had to renew my claim every year since. This year, I had forty entries in the reaping ball, one of which was drawn by our district escort. And, as is all too often the case in the poorer districts, no-one volunteered to take my place.

That's why I'm standing here now with my district partner, a boy named Byron, both of us dressed up to represent the grain industry. My costume consists of a light blue dress with designs of wheat embroidered on it in gold thread, giving the impression of a field of grain against the backdrop of a blue sky. This wheat embroidery is repeated all down the length of the long skirt and again on the sleeveless bodice. I'm also wearing golden armbands and blue slippers with the same embroidery as my dress. Finally, there's the headdress, which consists of a crown of wheat intertwined with blue flowers.

Inevitably given our district industry, tributes from 9 tend to end up in costumes which come in varying shades of yellow, reflecting the colour of ripe grain. The use of blue, albeit in combination with gold embroidery, adds a little variety. Blue is also my favourite colour; my district token is an enamel pendant in the shape of a blue heart. My mother gave it to me before I left District 9, but I don't have it at the moment. It was taken away for inspection when I arrived in the Capitol to make sure it didn't contain any concealed weapons.

Speaking of weapons, that's something I'll have to work on while I'm in the Capitol. Like most people in the poorer districts, I've never handled weapons before, much less used them to kill people. But, if I want to stand a decent chance in these Games, I'll have to learn fast. Even knowing how to wield a knife in combat would be better than nothing, even if my chances of taking out some of my fellow tributes (especially the Careers) are slim at best.

That means I may have to look into forming an alliance with at least one of my fellow tributes, though I'll have to be careful not to get too close to them. Alliances are all well and good, but these are the Hunger Games and only one of the twenty-four tributes can survive. And this can mean tributes who started out as allies having to kill each other.

I think of my family back in District 9, my parents and four younger siblings. My two sisters, ten-year-old Irene and seven-year-old Adele. My brothers, Emmett who's twelve and six-year-old David. I hope none of my brothers and sisters will ever have to claim tesserae the way Tomas and I did, but I know the only way I can be sure they won't is to win the Games. And what must my parents be going through at this moment? They've already lost one child to the Games and now they face the prospect of losing another.

I stand beside Byron as the chariots start to roll out of the Remake Centre.

* * *

_Byron Gardner_

Like many kids from outside the Career districts, I always dreaded the thought of getting reaped; I knew it meant facing almost certain death on live TV. For three years in a row, I managed to escape, though this inevitably cost the lives of three other boys. But I tried not to think about that and simply reminded myself that all I had to do was hold on for a few more years, that (barring any Quarter Quells which might remove the twelve to eighteen age limit) I would be safe once I had turned nineteen.

But, at my fourth reaping, my name was drawn. No-one volunteered to take my place, so I became a tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games. I'm now in the Remake Centre with my district partner, Hermia, waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Because we come from District 9, our costumes are themed around grain. I'm wearing a light blue tunic and trousers, with matching slippers, all of which have wheat embroidered on them. My headdress is a crown of wheat, but, because I'm a boy, there are no flowers woven into it like there are with Hermia's.

I think about what my strategy for the Games should be. I can handle myself in a fight, but this won't be like the skirmishes I've been involved in with other boys from school. My fellow tributes and I will be actively trying to kill each other and I'll be facing armed opponents, something I've never had to deal with before. What chance will I have against, say, the boy from District 2? I can't see him from where I'm standing, but I saw him when I watched the televised recap of the reapings. He's got to be one of the most powerful of this year's tributes.

I guess I should spend my time at the Training Centre learning how to use weapons, so that I'll at least be able to defend myself against the other tributes. Even then, I doubt I'll last long against some of them, but it will be better than going down without a fight. Especially since I promised Spelt I would do my best to win, even if my best was far from good enough.

Spelt, I should explain at this point, is my twelve-year-old sister. Like most younger siblings, she's a bit of a pain, but we both like each other really. This year was her first reaping and I found myself hoping desperately that Spelt's name would not be drawn. Even though it was her first year and she hadn't claimed tesserae, I knew anyone with at least one entry in the reaping balls was at risk. In the end, Hermia's name was drawn instead, but my relief at my sister's safety was tempered when, minutes later, our district escort called my name.

Anyway, I told Spelt that I would do the best I could, but I think we both knew what the most likely outcome would be. I'll have only three days in which to learn how to handle weapons and I'll be up against tributes who've been training for these Games their whole lives. Working on my survival skills will probably help to an extent, but it won't do me much good if I get ambushed by the Careers. And there are any number of other things that could kill me - exposure, dehydration, mutts . . . and so on. All I can do once I get to the arena is try to stay alive for as long as I can. Which probably won't be very long.

I consider trying to get in with the Career pack, but dismiss the idea. I don't have any skills the Careers might find useful and, even if I did, I know how Career packs tend to operate. Any tributes from outside the Career districts who join up with the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 are only kept alive as long as they are of use to the pack. The moment they've outlived their usefulness, they will be killed. A few such tributes manage to escape, but not many; they usually get taken out by one or more of their former allies.

I am still considering my options when the chariots start to roll out. The tribute parade is about to begin.


	10. District 10

**District 10**

_Rosie Yorke_

Coming from District 10, I am used to the idea of raising animals for slaughter. But there is a big difference between killing an animal for meat and killing a human being for the "entertainment" of the Capitol. And killing human beings is what I'll have to do as a tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games. I don't want to do it, but I won't have much choice, not if I want to survive. Trouble is, all my fellow tributes want to survive as well, but only one of us can. And, if I want to make sure it's me, I must be prepared to kill.

At present, my district partner, Steer, and I are waiting for the start of the tribute parade, both of us dressed up to reflect our district's main industry, livestock. I am wearing a halter-neck top made from maroon leather, with matching leggings. Thongs made from strips of leather and decorated with coloured beads serve as bracelets and there is a longer thong tied round my waist like a belt. My boots are made from dark brown leather, with maroon straps to match my top and leggings. Finally, I am wearing a leather headband decorated with larger versions of the beads which decorate my bracelets.

In short, my costume (apart from the beads which decorate it) is made entirely out of leather, leather from the cows we raise in District 10. Of course, we raise other animals as well, but we're best known for being a district of cowhands. This is probably down to our stylists, who have a habit of theming our tribute parade costumes around the subject of cattle. Tributes from our district usually end up dressed as cows or cowboys/cowgirls, though there was one year when they were dressed as slabs of meat. Which was a bit tasteless looking back, especially since that was the year the District 6 boy tried to eat the tributes he'd killed. But our stylists weren't to know that would happen.

Anyway, this year's theme for the District 10 tribute parade costumes is leather. More original than cows or cowboys/cowgirls and slightly less questionable than slabs of meat. Although I sometimes wish our stylists would remember than we don't just raise cattle; we raise sheep and pigs as well, not to mention poultry since there isn't a separate poultry district. Still, that's the Capitol for you.

My thoughts turn to my family; they will soon see Steer and myself in our leather costumes. My family consists of my mother and my younger brother and sister, thirteen-year-old Agnes and eleven-year-old Brand. I don't have a father; he died when I was ten, gored by a bull which got out of control and had to be shot by one of the Peacekeepers. Working with livestock can be hazardous and there are many accidents every year. Last year, for instance, a boy had his foot crushed by a cow, meaning he will never walk properly again. But, since he's of reaping age, he still has to line up behind the ropes with the other kids.

I took out tesserae as soon as I was old enough; my mother's job on one of District 10's poultry farms doesn't pay very much and we needed the extra rations of grain and oil. Agnes followed suit when she reached reaping age last year. I tried to dissuade her, but she was adamant, saying that, if I ever got reaped, it would be up to her to help provide for the family. Sometimes, I think she's mature beyond her years; then again, my siblings and I have had to grow up fast since our father died. Anyway, she had ten entries this year, the two allocated to all thirteen-year-olds, plus eight for the tesserae she'd claimed. I had twenty entries, sixteen of which were for tesserae. And one of those twenty entries was drawn from the reaping ball.

I consider what my strategy for the Games should be. I'm a fairly fast runner, so I should have no problem obtaining a weapon and getting clear of the Cornucopia. Like I said before, I am prepared to kill even though I don't want to; it's the only way I can hope to survive.

I tell myself this as the chariots start to roll out of the Remake Centre.

* * *

_Steer Holton_

I stand beside my district partner, Rosie, waiting for the tribute parade to begin. While I wait, I picture District 10 in my mind. The vast open spaces, the cattle grazing in the afternoon sun . . . This is the place where I was born and brought up, the place I may never see again. In a few days' time, I will be thrown into an arena along with twenty-three other tributes and we will then be left to fight to the death until only one of us is left.

In the meantime, we will be paraded through the streets of the Capitol, wearing costumes which depict our districts' main industries. Being from District 10, Rosie and I represent the livestock industry. I am dressed entirely in leather; my shirt, trousers and boots are all made from the stuff, as are the belt I wear round my waist and the band around my head. My stylist explained it to me as follows: District 10 raises cows, leather comes from cows, therefore leather costumes would show that we come from the livestock district. I refrained from pointing out that I already know where leather comes from.

I think back to the reaping, recalling the moment my name was called. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I made my way to the stage, where Rosie was already standing. Our district escort asked for volunteers, but the response was the same as it has been at every reaping I remember - no-one stepped forward. District 10 isn't one of those districts where kids are eager to risk their lives in the arena. I would have to say goodbye to my parents and my brother, Dwight, possibly forever.

Dwight is eighteen, so this was his seventh and last reaping, unless the next Quarter Quell sets a higher age limit. I'm too young to remember the last Quarter Quell, of course, but they teach us about them at school. Once every twenty-five years, they have an extra special (for the Capitol) Hunger Games which includes a nasty twist. Last time, they had twice the usual number of tributes and the time before that, the districts were made to vote for their own tributes. My Great Aunt Mary (my maternal grandfather's sister) was a tribute in the first Quarter Quell; she died on the fifth day, killed by the Careers.

I once asked my grandfather how people could have voted for who should go into the arena. He said there was no choice; voting was mandatory for every adult in the districts and anyone who failed to participate faced arrest. So all he could do was hope Mary (who was fifteen, the same age I am now) would not be elected as tribute, but he hoped in vain. I remember thinking how terrible it must have been to be forced to choose who should be sent away to face almost certain death, hoping that I would never have to make such a decision. Not that it matters now that I'm a tribute myself.

I am determined not to go down without a fight. And that means I will have to try and get hold of a weapon at the Cornucopia, a knife or an axe maybe. It will be risky going up against the Careers - they've trained for these Games all their lives, whereas my education mainly revolved around animal husbandry - but I'll have to face them sooner or later if I want to stand any chance of winning. So it might as well be sooner. Even if I am eliminated in the bloodbath, I'll at least die fighting. The last thing I want to do is flee from the Cornucopia, then end up dying from starvation or something like that.

But, whatever happens, I intend to be as prepared for it as possible. I am not going into the arena like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter; I know why I am going in and what I must do if I want to get out alive.

The doors to the Remake Centre open and a cheer erupts as the chariots start to emerge.


	11. District 11

**District 11**

_Sunshine Reeves_

I began working in the fields almost as soon as I could walk. In District 11, everyone is expected to help with the harvest apart from the very young babies, who accompany their mothers into the fields, strapped to their backs. We're the agricultural district; fields of crops stretch in all directions as far as the eye can see. It looks like a land of plenty, but looks can be deceptive and, as if to illustrate this, the whole district is surrounded by a ten-metre high barbed wire fence. There are metal plates at the base of this fence to keep burrowing animals out - and the human population in.

As for living on the crops we grow, forget it. They are for the Capitol's benefit, not ours; anyone who is caught stealing from the fields faces a public whipping and the Peacekeepers in 11 won't listen to any appeals for clemency. That's why nearly all the kids of reaping age are signed up for tesserae, including myself; I signed up when I was twelve, for myself, my parents and my three siblings. At this year's reaping, I had thirty-five entries, one of which was drawn by our district escort. And the response to the request for volunteers was the same as it has been every year for as long as I can remember; no-one stepped forward.

Hence why I'm currently in the Remake Centre, waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Because I come from District 11, my costume is themed around agriculture. I'm wearing a long leaf-green dress, which has been decorated with artificial fruit. There's a belt of berries and vines around my waist, with matching bracelets on my wrists. My sandals are green to match my dress, as is the cape which has been draped over my shoulders and fastened with a pin in the shape of an apple. Finally, a crown of fruit and leaves has been placed on my head. The fruit looks good enough to eat, but I know it's as real as my stylist's bright yellow hair.

I try not to look at my district partner, Jethro. He's a year older than me and he's one of the handsomest boys in District 11. But I mustn't think of him in those terms because it won't do either of us any good; at least one of us is going to die in the arena. There's no sense in getting too close to someone you may shortly have to kill, or who may shortly kill you. Though many tributes form alliances, they do so on the understanding that the arrangement is only temporary, that they will have to be prepared to kill each other if necessary.

My thoughts turn to my parents and siblings. I have two brothers and a sister called Plow, Daisy and Samuel; their respective ages are thirteen, ten and eight years old. Plow is also signed up for tesserae, though I would prefer it if he wasn't. But, with things the way they are in 11, families often struggle to put food on the table - and I told you what happens to anyone caught stealing crops. The only way to obtain extra rations legally is to have one or more children who are claiming tesserae.

Even so, I don't want Daisy and Samuel to face the same increased risk of ending up in the arena. So I'm going to do whatever it takes to win these Games. Coming from District 11, I already know quite a bit about edible plants, so I shouldn't have too much trouble feeding myself. Unless, of course, all the plants in the arena are poisonous; the Gamemakers have done that before. But I won't know until I'm in the arena, so I'm going to work on the assumption that I'll be able to live off the land.

But that alone won't be enough to win the Games. I'll have to be prepared to fight and kill my fellow tributes and, for that, I'll need to be able to handle weapons. That means I'll have to spend time at the weapons training stations while I'm at the Training Centre. I won't have time to get as good as the Careers, but I should at least be able to learn enough to enable me to defend myself.

I keep this thought in mind as the doors to the Remake Centre open and the chariots start to roll out onto the streets of the Capitol.

* * *

_Jethro Wilcox_

I replay the reaping in my mind. Not the whole thing, just the part where my name was drawn. I see myself slowly making my way to the stage, hear the request for volunteers to take my place. Needless to say, none of the other District 11 boys of reaping age were willing to risk their lives in the arena. And that meant only one thing: I was a tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games, one of twenty-four kids who will shortly be forced to fight to the death.

I'm presently in the Remake Centre, waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Since we come from District 11, my district partner, Sunshine, and I are dressed up to represent the agricultural industry. Our stylists have chosen fruit as their theme. My costume consists of a green wraparound skirt with matching sandals and cape; my chest is bare. The belt round my waist has been made to look like vines, with berries adding splashes of other colours to the green. Of course, the berries are all edible varieties. My cape is fastened with a pin shaped like an apple and my headdress is a crown of leaves and fruit. All artificial, of course.

I didn't know Sunshine before we were reaped and I didn't bother getting to know her on the journey to the Capitol. For one thing, what would be the point? We both know at least one of us will die in the arena. And then there's the fact that it's not unknown for a tribute to kill their own district partner. Sunshine looks innocent enough, but for all I know she's already planning my death and that means I can't trust her. In fact, I can't trust any of my fellow tributes; even if I formed an alliance with one of them, that ally could turn on me at any moment, especially if we both made it to the latter stages.

That's why I've decided to go it alone in the arena. I'm fairly strong from years of heavy agricultural work and I also know about edible plants. So I should be able to keep myself alive for a while. But, if I'm to stand any chance in these Games, I'll have to get my hands on a weapon and I'll have to be prepared to use it to kill my fellow tributes. Not because I want to, but because, when it comes to the Hunger Games, it's kill or be killed. And I don't plan on getting killed if I can help it.

I think of the moment my family came to say goodbye. My mother and father, who gave me the pebble I plan to use as my district token, the one reminder of home I'll be allowed to bring into the arena. My older brother, George, and my sister-in-law, Acre, who've been married for nearly a year. Acre is expecting her first child and, knowing I may not live to see my niece or nephew, she promised to name the baby after me if it's a boy. If it's a girl, she'll choose a name beginning with J.

I didn't have chance to thank her before one of the Peacekeepers came to tell us that time was up and I had to leave for the Capitol. But, as I left the Justice Building, I found myself hoping that she and George will never have to send any of their kids to the Games. Of course, their child won't become eligible for the reaping until the Eighty-sixth Games - your first reaping is the one which takes place after your twelfth birthday - but George and Acre must be thinking about it already. Every parent in the districts faces the possibility of losing at least one child to the Games.

It's hard to believe I may never see District 11 again. Even though it's very strictly policed and you can get whipped, or even killed, for the slightest infraction, it's the only home I've ever known. I'd much rather be there than in the Capitol, waiting to be paraded through the streets on a chariot.

Speaking of which, the doors to the Remake Centre are opening.


	12. District 12

**District 12**

_Audra Norris_

District 12 has always fared badly in the Hunger Games. Our tributes hardly ever make the final eight and, of those who have made it that far, only two have gone on to win. In fact, we haven't had a tribute who lasted more than a couple of days for several years; for as long as I remember, they've all been knocked out early. So, when my name was called at the reaping, I knew I was as good as dead, unless someone volunteered to take my place. And did anyone volunteer? What do you think?

Anyway, I'm District 12's girl tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games; my district partner, Travis, and I are waiting for the start of the tribute parade. We are dressed up to represent coal mining, our district's main industry. I'm wearing a charcoal grey crop top and black mini skirt, clearly an attempt to make mining look sexy. But the effect is ruined by my clumsy black boots, not to mention the black powder that's been sprinkled all over me to represent coal dust. My headdress is a miner's helmet, charcoal grey to match my top; it even has a working lamp.

I don't need to look in a mirror to know I look hideous; I've seen enough tribute parades to know District 12 always has the least flattering costumes. Just black or dark grey clothes, miners' helmets and fake coal dust. And that is supposed to appeal to the Capitol audience, only it never does. The only good thing about what I'm wearing is that at least I was given an actual costume, unlike those kids who were put on their chariot wearing nothing but black dust.

I find myself thinking about my family. My father used to be a miner until an accident underground forced him to give it up; since then we've been scraping by on the money my mother earns taking in sewing. Which isn't very much, so my oldest brother, Keith, and I both had to sign up for tesserae. But Keith is now eighteen, so he will soon be starting work in the mines; he says he will work as many hours as he can to save our younger siblings, ten-year-old Lily and eight-year-old Abe, from having to take tesserae.

But coal mining is a dangerous occupation and many miners are killed or injured every year. The only way I can be sure Lily and Abe won't have to claim tesserae is to win the Games and I know that's highly unlikely. The tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 have been training for these Games their whole lives. I'll only have three days in which to learn how to use weapons. Add to that the fact that our only mentor is Haymitch Abernathy, a surly drunk who doesn't do us any favours when it comes to attracting sponsors, and I'm pretty much doomed. My only chance may be to get a good training score, but I don't have any skills to speak of.

There are people in 12 who sometimes slip through the fence around the district to go hunting and foraging in the woods. It's against the law, but our Peacekeepers generally turn a blind eye to such activities; some even frequent the Hob, the blackmarket run from an old warehouse. But, until I was reaped, I'd never been outside the fence in my life, so wilderness survival is another skill I'll have to learn from scratch. But it may be my only chance of surviving beyond the first two or three days in the arena. Even then, the odds will still be against me, as I'll still have my fellow tributes to contend with.

For a moment, I consider following the example of the girl who dropped her token during the sixty-second countdown at the Cornucopia, blowing herself up. But I realise I must try to survive the bloodbath at least, especially given District 12's record. Since the Hunger Games started more than seventy years ago, there have only been a handful of years when we didn't lose a tribute on the first day. I have no wish to add to those statistics.

I am still contemplating my fate when the chariots start to roll out.

* * *

_Travis Fletcher_

I keep expecting to wake up and find that this is all a bad dream. But I must face the fact that it is reality, that I really am a tribute. And that means I will almost certainly be dead within a few days; District 12 tributes like myself rarely last long in the arena. A few make it to the final stages, but not many. Coming from the poorest district in Panem, our tributes have every disadvantage you can think of.

And it doesn't help that they always have the worst costumes in the tribute parade. Costumes like the ones my district partner, Audra, and I are wearing. We are from the coal-mining district and, as they do nearly every year, our stylists have chosen miners as their theme. My costume consists of a pair of black trousers and matching boots; my chest has been left bare to represent a miner stripped to the waist while working underground. My entire body is covered in black dust and, just in case it wasn't already obvious which district I'm from, I'm wearing a dark grey miner's helmet.

I know what the outcome of these Games will probably be as far as District 12 is concerned. If Audra and I survive for more than a couple of days, we'll be lucky. If we're both still alive after a week, it will be a miracle. Neither of us are very strong physically and we'll be up against kids who've been training for these Games all their lives. But, even if I can't win, I want to take at least one of my fellow tributes down with me. So, during the three-day training period, I'm going to spend time at the weapons training stations; if nothing else, I should be able to pick up a few tips on how to handle a knife or a spear.

Before I left for the Capitol, my parents brought my little sisters (nine-year-old Sage and five-year-old Penny) to say goodbye. Penny begged me to come back safe and well, so I had to tell her that I would; she's only little. But I knew it was much more likely that I'd been coming home in a wooden box. That's what happened to all but two of District 12's previous tributes - and we haven't had a victor for over twenty years.

I made my parents promise that they will do whatever they can to make sure Sage and Penny won't have to claim tesserae. I signed up for tesserae on my twelfth birthday two years ago; I knew it increased my chances of being reaped, but we needed the grain and oil. This year, I had eighteen entries in the reaping ball, compared to the three I would have had without the tesserae. I don't want my sisters to face the same increased risk, but I know there are no guarantees that my parents will be able to keep their promise. Having one or more kids who are claiming tesserae is often the only thing that can save a family from starvation.

Right now, my family must be among those gathered around the television in District 12's community hall, waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Our old television broke down several months ago and we can't afford to replace it. So, if there is any mandatory viewing scheduled, my family go to the community hall. And they will doubtless be spending most of their time there in the next few weeks, especially as the Games near their climax.

Of course, it's unlikely I'll still be in the running by then. More likely I will have died, if not at the hands of my fellow tributes, then by some other means. Starvation, dehydration, "natural" disasters, mutts . . . There are many things which can kill a tribute, but dwelling on it will do me no good. All I can do once I'm in the arena is try to stay alive for as long as I can. Which, given District 12's record in the Games, probably won't be very long. But, like I said before, I'm determined not to go down without a fight if I can help it.

The doors to the Remake Centre open and the chariots start to roll out onto the streets of the Capitol.


End file.
